When my bladder knows there's a choice of clean, regularly serviced facilities and a detailed map showing the quickest route to each ladies room, there's no panic and yes, we can both enjoy the jumbo sized latte in the food court to wash down the two pink iced donuts that we won't confess to having eaten, safe in the knowledge that when we gotta, we can go, in peace and quiet and air-conditioned comfort.

But move to unfamiliar ground and those impossible-to-ignore twinges begin. On holidays, whenever we drive past a road sign that says "last petrol for 100kms", my bladder instantly has a contraction.

I wasn't always like this but after clocking up a few birthdays and having two kids, I'm ready to admit my carefree and youthful days of ducking around the back of a skimpy shrub on the roadside are long gone.

The idea of balancing behind a bush trying to stay out of sight of the B-doubles, holding my knickers out of the way while trying not to pee on my leg and then using a handful of leaves instead of 12ply Sorbent sounds more like a walk on the wet side than a walk on the wild side.

Even when I'm asleep there's no escape, I have dreams of being caught short. One minute it's a raunchy pirate fantasy with Johnny Depp clutching me tightly and looking into my eyes, next minute it's me clutching my bladder tightly and desperately looking for a loo.

That's when I wake up with just enough time to stumble down our hallway to the littlest room in the house.

So in light of past bladder performances, it wasn't a complete surprise last weekend when I was caught suddenly busting to go.

Unfortunately I wasn't anywhere near my shopping centre comfort zones or a loo. I was stuck on a headland witnessing a dear friend take her wedding vows.

And can I just state for the record they were the longest vows in history. I like to think I'm a woman not without some talent at multi-tasking but remaining calm while crossing my legs tightly, listening to the persistent gushing sound of the water crashing on the sand and suppressing the urge not to pee my pants while scouting the horizon from my behind my sunglasses for a toilet block was stretching my capabilities never mind my bladder.

Just as I was about to pass out from a burst bladder I spotted a loo, way down in the car park. Hallelujah.

I quickly planned my escape. While my dear friend was reciting her heartfelt wedding vows (yeah, yeah, I'd heard it all before at her first two weddings) I would make a discreet but speedy exit to the loo and be back before anyone would notice I was gone.

Stealthily I began my retreat and all was going well until hubby spotted me and screamed out, "Hey, where are you going?"

Considering my condition and with all those questioning eyes focused on me I only had three options. Blush. Pee my pants. Or kill my husband. And just like the pink donut incident - I'm not telling what happened next.